


for I love you

by zodiakku (ZodiacRiver)



Series: all the small words [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZodiacRiver/pseuds/zodiakku
Summary: Nighttime is the time for words of gratitude and love to spill and kisses to be shared.





	for I love you

**Author's Note:**

> this has been waiting to be written for idk 78 years. I had to fish ideas from my other fics, because that’s how unoriginal I am. Also, Thesaurus had a big part since my vocabulary is shit.

Yuuri loves the night.

The night, of course, is what people believe to be the time for mysterious creatures and ghosts to wake up from their deep slumber, wandering around and trying to seek companion from lonely souls. It is supposed to be something terrifying and cursed, but Yuuri loves it regardless.

He loves how the streets grow quiet as the moon climbs higher, and how one or two tiny dots of stars appear in the navy sky. He loves the singing of crickets and the hoarse croak of toads, the way neon signs above jazz night cafes glow and flicker. He loves the chill feeling of zephyr that smothers his skin when he’s outside, despite the additional layer of sweater.

The night marks the end of the day, and that’s somehow just like an accomplishment for Yuuri – to finish a day, that is. When he gets home, tired and sleepy, he will surely be greeted with the relieving tranquility of home and the cheerful yet loving voice of his husband; usually followed by the delicious smell of homemade cooking.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” Viktor says, walking over him, giving a light peck on the lips. Yuuri stood a bit on his tiptoes to meet him halfway. He has always thought that welcome home kisses are the best kind of kisses. It’s proof that you have someone waiting for you to come home – to come back into their embrace – and when you do they are so happy that they give you a kiss. It’s such a lovely thought, he thinks. He believes that Viktor thinks so as well.

“Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. In the meanwhile,” Viktor grabs a kettle and pours the liquid into a yellow ceramic mug. Yuuri inhales the warm, familiar scent of Earl Grey. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks,” is what he manages to say.

He does, in fact, understand a lot of things. He is an intelligent man, and he has broad knowledge. But one thing he never actually gets a good grasp on is the reason why the kindness and affection of someone you love could petrify you to the point it hinders your ability to speak. It’s odd, supposedly, but it is not unpleasant. Not at all.

The thing is, Yuuri finds himself feeling stronger when he is around Viktor. Contrary to popular belief, he genuinely believes that love doesn’t make you vulnerable. For him, that’s a false statement. Because if it’s the opposite, then there has to be a fault somewhere. Viktor makes him feel safe, and not the fragile kind of safe in which you hide under someone’s wing; but rather safe to know that you are not fighting any battles all by yourself.

_Isn’t that sweet?_

“Do you need any help?” Yuuri offers. From what he sees, he assumes that Viktor is making a little more splendid dinner than usual, though there is no reason. Viktor likes to surprise him like this.

“No, my dear Prince, it’s fine,” he smiles. “You deserve some rest.”

Yuuri doesn’t object. He takes the mug and plops himself down onto the couch; the rivulets of spilled tea darken the color of his green top. It’s hot, but not enough to burn his skin. It’s still steaming, however, so he blows on it. When he brings the mug to his mouth, it’s lukewarm, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

Then he hears a recognizable bark. Makkachin wiggles its tail and makes its way to the vacant space next to him. He runs his fingers across the gentle fur, and the dog keeps moving its tail in a pendulum-like movement with joy.

He’s in a good mood. There’s no denying that. Some days just please his heart very much. It doesn’t matter when – by the time he opens his eyes in the morning, during lunch, or just like this moment, at night.

He closes his eyes. He hears the barely audible _tick tock_ of the clock. What time is it? He loses track. He hears nothing else other than the steady huff and puff of his own breathing, the soft whimpers of Makkachin, the faint sound of old folk songs coming from his neighbor, gentle footsteps and the clatter of plates clashing against the table. So, he guesses what’s coming next.

He opens one eye when he feels the wet press of lips on his temple.

“It’s all set,” Viktor says. “Are you sleepy?”

“Mmh, not really,” Yuuri mutters and gets up. Makkachin raises its head, maybe curious of the sudden lose of weight beside him. He smiles and gives it a pat on the head, then turns to Viktor, who was still arranging the table. “You seem to be preparing a somehow glorious dinner today.”

“Doesn’t it seem so?” is the answer. “Complaining?”

“Of course not. Why would I complain?”

“Well, you are unpredictable, that’s for one,” he replies as he puts down the final bowl.

“I’m really glad, you know,” Yuuri says, somewhat unaware of what he’s saying. “To come back to an unexpected treat. Oh, wow, sweets.”

“Yeah, I’m really fond of making them these days,” Viktor shrugs, glancing at his own creations: animal-shaped cookies and flower-shaped jellies.

“They’re cute,” after test-tasting one of the cookies, he murmurs again, “and delicious.”

“You’re eager. Save that for later, won’t you?”

“Sure enough.”

They don’t engage in much conversation during the meal, except for some small talks and probably a few unfunny jokes. Once they are done, Viktor grabs all the dirty utensils and dumps them into the washer.

“Let me give you a hand this time.”

“Okay. You wash, I’ll dry.”

“Alright. You should stop spoiling me too much.”

“Hey, look who’s talking.”

The kitchen window is half open, blowing in harsh wind. Yuuri can’t help but shiver on the first blow. Then he gets used to it. It’s nice. Especially with the presence of Viktor next to him, talking about something simply to make the mood less bland. Though the effort itself isn’t in vain. It never actually is. Viktor can always boost up the atmosphere—in Yuuri’s perspective, at the very least.

Or perhaps that’s just one of the questionable things that love does to you. It turns your head to the brighter side of your most beloved ones. It fuels you up with adoration.

The feeling? Yuuri wouldn’t even use any kind of complicated metaphors or paradoxes to answer that. It simply reminds him to his childhood, back then when Viktor and him were complete strangers to one another. The glee of seeing his idol on TV, the shamelessness of putting up tons of posters on the walls of his room, the excitement of mimicking his role model, the – those are the ones that swiftly made it into his mind at the moment.

_Man, being in love is a pretty great feeling._

“This is all,” Yuuri wipes the last plate with a cloth and put it into the shelf. “I’m taking a shower. You?”

“I’ve taken one. Suit yourself.”

So he does. He takes a hot, steamy shower. His muscles loosen pleasantly, and his skin turns slightly pink, but he doesn’t pay much mind. Blurred by the sound of water, he hears the bathroom door being opened and sees the silhouette of Viktor from the curtain that droops over the bathtub.

_So he’s getting ready to sleep._

When he finishes, Viktor is reading a book on the bed. When he notices Yuuri, he marks the book with a dog-ear and puts it down.

“I was waiting for you.”

“How’d you know what I was going to say?”

“Yuuri, we’ve been together for so long. There are some things about you that I can’t predict, but you’re easy to read most of the time, you see.”

He throws him a gentle smile in return and adjusts himself on a comfortable sitting position. Viktor leans in to hug him. A great, warm bear hug.

Viktor always gives the nicest hugs.

“Yuuri.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so grateful that this is my life now.”

“You’re too damned sappy.”

His sentence is punctuated by a slow, passionate kiss; initiated by himself. No matter how many times he has kissed Viktor, he constantly feels _breathless_. They’ve kissed for how many times the Lord knows, and done more things than simple butterfly kisses, but nothing can change the truth that Yuuri still feels like it’s the first time.

“Why, though?” he asks when the kiss shatters. “Why are you grateful?”

“Why, indeed,” Viktor’s chuckle was quiet, _very_ quiet, almost unheard to Yuuri’s ears. “Because I have you now.”

“And that means?”

“I have everything.”

“…”

“I’ve got the world in my hands,” he cups Yuuri’s cheeks, which are inevitably ruby.

“I really love it when you blush,” he continues, “it’s a pretty shade of red. Like, that – what do you call it –“

“I can’t believe you’re stuttering when you’re trying to hit on me.”

“Th—that’s! Ah! Spider lilies!”

“Viktor, this is the twentieth time you mention spider lilies ever since the beginning of our relationship. It’s way too overused. Use something else.”

“I don’t know, red paint?”

Yuuri stared at Viktor, whom was smiling sheepishly. “You’re no match to be a romantic.”

“How mean!”

Then another kiss follows. Some say that people become more veracious in times when they are sleepy. Maybe that’s why kisses at night taste more sincere and honest, like a child’s peck on his mother’s cheek.

How could something so trivial create something so much more? The tender nibbles of teeth on lips and the low hum of both parties are enough to spark a peculiar ambience that makes the two lightheaded.

They have been pining for each other for so long, and they don’t even know this. The reciprocated feeling of missing had engulfed them even before they had even met; and when they did, one filled in the gaping void of the other.

Isn’t that the pure, most original concept of soulmates?

Viktor pulls away carefully. Yuuri’s eyes looks into his for a brief moment, and _for the love of God_ , they are so unearthly beautiful. You can look for any wordsmiths in this world and ask them to describe the color blue in his eyes and they’d probably put their pen down in defeat. “Hey.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

“Mm,” he yawns. “I love you too.”

Words are not even important in times like this. They lie down—fingers entwined—and eyes closed.

This is Yuuri’s favorite part of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I personally hc Viktor as a Masterchef™. Please tell me what you think!!!
> 
> yell at me, as always:  
> twitter: icryoverships


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